Hey, Super 12, I found your postcard. You've been hunting for placebos in the storm. Could you give me some? To kill my knees. They've been screaming all night at me. Wish they'd get evicted, like Fancy, parks his tank in front of the stairs by a clothesline where as kids we were ornaments.
I'll be a reminder that no one's got a hold on anything, but I'm in no opposition to collecting. And people have thus far made greatest additions, of my favorite thing, I sink in remission.
Hey, Super 12, I found your postcard, you've been hunting for placebos in the storm. Wish I'd get evicted, like Fancy, keep him up all night with these dreams: where as kids, we were ornaments, now we hang, not as decorative, but as convicts.
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